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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
278
XXII. THE RUINS OF CORNELIA'S HOUSE AT BAIA.
I turn from ruins of imperial power,Tombs of corrupt delight, old walls the pride
Of statesmen pleased for respite brief to hide
Their laurell'd foreheads in the Muse's bower,
And seek Cornelia's home. At sunset's hour
How oft her eyes, that wept no more, descried
Yon purpling hills! how oft she heard that tide
Fretting as now low cave or hollow tower!
The mother of the Gracchi—Scipio's child—
'Twas virtue such as hers that built her Rome!
Never towards it she gazed! Far off, her home
She made, like her great Father self-exiled.
Woe to the nations when the souls they bare,
Their best and bravest, choose their rest elsewhere!
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |